


(but usually) i'm just trying to get some sleep

by plinys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon Compliant, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: “Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.”[Or: 5 times Richie called Eddie. +1]





	(but usually) i'm just trying to get some sleep

**Author's Note:**

> for my bad things happen bingo card, because all i write is angst apparently, the "grief/mourning" square

1

There’s a group chat. 

One they had all made before everything went to hell.

One that Richie can’t leave because fucking Ben has an andriod and is keeping them all trapped in perpetual groupchat hell by his unwillingness to join the rest of the iPhone using world. 

One that his friends fill with daily messages when they all move back on with their lives, encouragement on the tough days, pictures of the dog that Mike rescued, Bill’s infinite complaints about writer's block, and one number that never replies at all.

He knows this is a bad idea.

That if any of his  _ friends  _ in the group chat we’re to realize what he was doing they would all be concerned for him. But there are moments, when he’s had a little bit too much to drink at two in the morning because he can’t fucking sleep without having the same goddamn nightmares that it feels like a good idea.

The phone rings. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And he hates himself a little that he’s holding a breath hoping for someone on the other end of the line to pick up. 

Of course, no one ever does, because he’s - 

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

He hangs up before the  _ beep  _ can ever come. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

  
  


2

It should be a one time thing.

Rationally he knows that calling the number again is only going to hurt himself.

But Richie’s never really been the  _ rational  _ sort. 

And fuck it, if he didn’t miss him so much that it made Richie’s heart ache. He misses Eddie in a way that he didn’t even know that he was capable of before all of this. 

The type of way you miss someone that you’ve loved and then lost. 

It’s easier to call Eddie’s phone again and again, than it is to figure out what all of these emotions, too little and too late, mean - so he calls again. 

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

And again.

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

And again.

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

And- 

His hand shakes, voice breaking when he speaks following the beep, it’s the first time he’s ever been able to reply, after weeks of listening to that same ten seconds of Eddie’s voice. A moment frozen in time, before everything went bad. 

He closes his eyes and pretends that everything is normal. 

That in another life, Eddie could just be busy with work or driving and not wanting to answer the phone.

And he leaves message that only a ghost could hear - “Who the fuck calls you  _ Edward _ ?”

  
  


3

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

_ Beep _

“I’m going to start trying to write my own material,” Richie rambles into the phone trying to fit as much as he can into the message. “I mean, I used to before right? My manager thinks it might be a good thing, I’m going to be Richie Tozier the fucking comeback king.” 

He laughs a little at himself.

It sounds dumb.

If Eddie were here, if he could hear him, he would probably say as much. 

“So I’m going to test all of my dumb jokes out on you. Sorry, but you’re not really in a position to object so-” 

_ Beep _ . 

He waits for it, the familiar automated voice telling him that he’s run out of time for his message. 

_ Press six to record again _ . 

He barely waits for the next beat before speaking again. 

“You know, you’d probably like my manager, he’s a naggy little twink,” Richie says. “A lot like you actually. Fuck, maybe that’s a thing I have? A fucking sixth sense of twinks with mommy issues. Thanks for that, fucker.”

  
  


4

His therapist had called it an unhealthy coping mechanism. Frowned at him, eyes filled with concern, and fuck Richie hadn’t needed  _ that _ . 

He’s not even sure why he had mentioned it, but it was between that and admitting that some nights he wished more than anything that they had just let It take him. That Eddie could be the one alive instead. He would know what to do, how to exist in the aftermath of everything that had happened. Where Richie… 

So telling his therapist about one of his latest vices, in comparison, had seemed so much better. 

Except it had brought up all those feelings that Richie couldn’t bear to talk about. 

Feelings that he had kept locked away from twenty-seven years.

Feelings that came back so suddenly the moment their eyes had met. 

“-I’ll be sure to call you back.”

Richie lets out a soft exhale, at the sound of Eddie’s voice, constant and unchanging. 

“Hey, Eds, it’s raining today, and I’m sitting in my fucking car trying not to cry because…” Richie trails off. Not sure if his vision is blurry from the tears of the rain. “My therapist thinks I should stop calling her, but fuck that right? You’d miss me too fucking much.” 

He knows it’s unhealthy.

Knows this isn’t a proper part of the mourning process.

But it’s one of the few things that Richie can control. 

“I miss you so fucking much.” 

5

He can’t help but wonder, what it is about the middle of the night that makes him honest in a way that he could never have been in the light of day. 

That he could never be when it matters the most. 

He stares up at his ceiling, the speaker phone playing out familiar words - “Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

_ Beep _ . 

“I was in love with you,” Richie says. The words barely more than a whisper.

The voicemail won’t pick up on them. 

But it doesn’t matter.

Nobody is waiting on the other end of the line. 

“I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve fucking years old, but I didn’t know the right words or what they meant, or how to even fucking tell you back then.” 

The tears aren’t unfamiliar at this point. 

He chokes over the words, but he has to get them out - “Not that it made any difference because I couldn’t tell you at forty when you were dying in my arms either. Not that it would have changed anything. But fuck, some nights I wonder if I had just hated myself a little less, and loved you a little more obviously, if we could have gotten a happily ever after too.” 

There’s no reply.

And eventually the  _ beep  _ comes. 

Richie reaches out across the bed, fumbles in the dark for the right button, the one that will bring the love of his life back to him, even for just a moment. 

“Hello, you've reached Edward Kaspbrak. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a short message. I’ll be sure to call you back.” 

  
  
  


+1

“We’re sorry, the number that you are trying to reach is no longer in service.” 


End file.
